Too late for Primarch Week

but I very much hope Adrien’s return is still welcome. New chapter of Stolen Moments is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7365808/chapters/61396021

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12028952/21/Stolen-Moments

Home

Victus can't help but grin wide enough to make his mandibles ache as Jane turns, squeezing herself between the front seats in the crowded skycar to holler at the lunatics in the back. "Aren't you all supposed to be strapped in?" Even though she raises her voice, he can barely hear her over the blaring music of the Garrus-led air band performance.

Zirra interupts her back up vocal and air guitar performance to say, "We are, Ama. See?" The tiny turian holds out her belt, her expression gorgeously earnest. "A seatbelt can't stop me from shredding it on my axe."

Sinking back into her seat, Shepard lets out a tremulous breath. "Sweet lord, I'm an ama."

Shepard's words disappear into the family's reaction to their smallest thrash rocker, but they resonate deep in Victus's gut. His dilan reaches out, laying a hand on his thigh. He understands. Sometimes joy proves as terrifying as the battlefield … perhaps moreso. At least they knew their place amidst the horrific reality of battle. Happiness … peace … comfort … they're all still learning to trust those foreign concepts.

Adrien covers Shepard's fingers with his talons, supporting her with a gentle squeeze. He knows that she just needs to check in, and it's his privilege to become her anchor for as long as she needs one. And she needs one more than she'll ever admit. He meets her gaze for a handful of heartbeats before the world outside the windows demands her attention. She looks away, the sun leaving him in shade.

The awe in her voice leaves no doubt as to whether or not the view inspires her as she asks, "Where have you brought us, caris? Family picnic in heaven?" Her hand slips out from under his to grip the car door.

He doesn't need to reply, because the next moment, he guides the car below the forest canopy, revealing their destination. A large log house stands in the center of a broad clearing, its windows intact, its deep, violet-silver logs free of any trace of soot or damage. It's a decidedly new addition to the vista and the answer to a great many of his hopes and dreams.

Yep, these two crazy kids are coming back this summer!  I’ve been rereading Future Imperfect and Machinations to prepare, so get ready ... summer 2020 is the summer of da werdzzzzz!!!!!

The Masked Woman Chapter Three: ... Silence

Two hours later:

Garrus watched Sophie Hakansson through the two way mirror for over an hour before going into the interrogation room. The entire situation set his teeth grinding, and something about the girl just added to what his boss called 'the screaming willies'. She was hiding something from him, a rare enough occurrence to be noteworthy, and he needed a better read on her before going in. After what happened to her sister, cops would amount to nothing more than spurin trying to get in her way. In her world, killers played the hero roles.

Not that it mattered, but just maybe they did in his as well.

He crossed his arms and slouched in his chair, broadcasting a careless nonchalance despite her not being able to see him. Energy travelled and infected everyone around it, and he needed her calm and cooperative.

Within five minutes of arriving, when he heard her stomach growling through the recording equipment, he sent a patrolman out to bring the young woman some lunch. Fifteen minutes later, Nihlus set a burger and fries from the most popular restaurant on the Citadel in front of her. Garrus's partner smiled, nodded in answer to her thanks, then left the atmosphere in the room calm and grateful. Despite his drinking, Nihlus was the only one Garrus trusted to read the situation and not set everything back with random stulti conversation or questions.

Sophie tore into the food, shoving it in like she hadn't eaten in weeks. When the meal vanished in under two minutes, leaving her staring at the wrappers as though she wanted nothing more than to pick them up and lick them clean, he sent for another, making himself comfortable in the observation room.

"Turn on the vid screen for her," Garrus ordered, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at the tech. "Let's see where Sophie Hakansson's mind is."

"Even the porn channels?" the torin asked without looking away from his screens.

Garrus twisted in his seat, laser stare drilling through the back of the tech's head until the torin squirmed in his chair. Sneaking a peek over his shoulder, the tech shrugged—slanted and pissed off—and looked back to his computer.

"Okay, fine, no porn channels," the tech whispered, muttering under his breath as he carried out his duties. "Precor SI's, all so fucking perfect, think they know every fucking thing."

"Really? You asked if you should open the porn channels for a barely grown teenager who was arrested while trying to find her sister at a slaughter-brothel, and I'm the spurin? Dear fucking spirits." After listening to a couple more grumbles, Garrus kicked the back of the fellow's chair. "Shut the fuck up. I'm sitting less than a metre away, I can hear the names you're muttering, obluvis."

Continue reading here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7879081/chapters/18094231

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12120728/3/Mass-Effect-The-Masked-Woman

The Masked Woman Chapter Two

Yup, Noir detective Garrus and his partner are back for a second day in a row.  :D  They make me happy. Four hours later

Garrus leaned heavily on the toilet seat, saliva running from his mouth: a veritable waterfall splashing into the fouled water in the bowl.  Staring at the remains of his breakfast, he let the misery of his rolling belly and acid-burned mouth crush down the horror and stink of the hotel basement.  No idea how he’d managed to keep his tarc together until he got back to the precinct, he gave himself a few minutes to wallow in weary misery.  

Spirits, he needed a drink.  It’d be hours yet though.  He wondered if Nihlus had succumbed to the siren call of his brandy, then chuffed as jealousy wandered through, throwing a smirk at him over its shoulder.  Actually wishing he allowed himself the base level of his partner’s disillusionment?  Well, he supposed there was a first time for everything.

The washroom door opened, mechanism squeaking and grinding before the door slammed into the wall.  

“Tarc!”  He jumped, the scare tossing his stomach back into dry-heaving.  Muscles tying themselves into knots, throat burning, he managed to get up a little swallowed spit before collapsing back over the toilet.  They really needed to fix that fucking door.  He groped for the toilet paper, but then a couple of moist cloth packets and a bottle of water appeared under the stall divider.

“You should drink some water.  At the very least it’ll give you something to heave up,” Nihlus said through the metal.  The toilet seat in the next stall thumped, a hollow echo through the space as Nihlus sat down.  “Boss wants to see us.  Figured you’d better not smell like half-digested drellak steak.”  He chuffed.  “Brush your teeth too.  Spirits, what a reek.  I can smell your breath from here.”

Continue reading at:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7879081/chapters/18016753

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12120728/2/Mass-Effect-The-Masked-Woman

Mass Effect: The Masked Woman

New Story!  Yes, here it is, the novel version of my noir detective story starring Garrus.  Originally, it was going to costar Kal’Reegar, but Nihlus decided he wanted to be a cop.  :D  So much intrigue awaits these crazy kids.  Hope you enjoy.

The Masked Woman

On the Citadel, crime amounted to endless piles of the same thing. On the presidium, white collar formed the rule. The petty stuff stuck mostly to the wards, along with the truly horrific stuff. Sure, the odd presidium banker offed his mistress or a councillor hired someone to snuff a rival, but for true bloodsport, the real slippery, 'dear spirits, are those entrails on my talons' crime … Senior Investigator Garrus Vakarian bet on the wards every single time.

And he would have come out ahead until dispatch called him to the Crown and Dominion Hotel. The moment he crossed the threshold, all the pristine, white-tiled streets, parks, and lakes vanished into the sixth level of buratrum. Blood painted the expensive velvet-flocked wall paper three different hues and soaked the antique carpets. He looked down at the blood that seeped out of the rug to pool around his booted talons and waited for his gag reflex to respond.

When it only yawned, far too weary in the ways of slaughter, he sighed and looked up.

You've been a cop too long, Vakarian. You're officially jaded.

He held out his right hand, talons snapping. "Someone have some gloves and booties … or hip waders?" he called. He accepted a pair of rubberized booties from one of the crime scene techs and moved over to step into the antiseptic wash at the door. Boots clean, he slipped the covers over his talons. "Who was the first on the scene?"

A timid asari stepped forward, holding up her hand as if being called on in class. "I was the first here, sir. Patrolman Sirri S'tilla."

He shrugged off her name, not caring. "You don't need to sir me, patrolman," he said, snapping latex gloves on over his uniform ones. "I work for a living." He jerked his head toward the macabre scene behind him. "Walk me through it."

Continued at:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12120728/1/

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7879081/chapters/17995873

Beginnings -- Detective Noir Garrus

Garrus begins his journey down the rabbit hole, on a collision course with Jane Shepard, heiress, woman of dubious morals, and femme fatale.  From what will be a co-written project with @azzydarling​

The Slaughtered Brothel

Buratrum -- The turian equivalent of hell. The realm of spirits of dishonourable association.

Nais -- Asari having reached the age of maiden (40)

Senior Investigator Garrus Vakarian stepped across the threshold, moving from pristine, white tiled streets, parks, and lakes into the sixth level of buratrum.  Blood washed the expensive velvet-flocked wall paper and soaked the antique carpets.  He looked down at the blood that seeped out of the rug to pool around his booted talons and waited for his gag reflex to respond.  

When it only yawned, far too weary in the ways of slaughter, he sighed and looked up.  “Someone have some booties … or hip waders?” he called.  He accepted a pair of rubberized booties from one of the crime scene techs and moved over to step into the antiseptic wash at the door.  Boots clean, he slipped the covers over his talons.  “Who was the first on the scene?”

A timid asari stepped forward, holding up her hand as if being called on in class.  “I was the first here, sir.”

“You don’t need to sir me, patrolman,” he said, snapping latex gloves on over his uniform ones.  “I work for a living.”  He jerked his head toward the macabre scene behind him.  “Walk me through it.”

Art by the fabulous Commander Hot Pants for this, my MEBB submission this year.

So, I started a thing ... a Primarch Victus/Shepard romance, and it has taken over a big part of my soul.  A portion of the first chapter is below.  The rest can be found here:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12028952/1/Stolen-Moments

and/or here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7365808/chapters/16730011

So ... Chapter One: Primarch

Menae’s thin atmosphere bites at the inside of General Adrien Victus’s nostrils, cold and metallic, bearing thin layers of smoke, spent heat sinks, and death.  He draws in a deep breath, pulling that scent all the way down into his soul.  The smell of battle, a stink he both hates and loves.  Hates … .  He doesn’t have to look far to see why he hates it.  Less than a metre away, too many bodybags wait to be burned.  

“General?”

He turns toward the call, but doesn’t speak.  After so many days of shouting orders, his voice … well, flat and hoarse can’t begin to describe it.  Instead, he raises his brow plates and nods, encouraging the young officer, Ralayis, to speak.

“Our scouts report three soldiers fighting their way down the valley,” she said, stiffening to attention.  “Looks like two humans and Vakarian, sir.”

Relief in the form of three soldiers?  High command’s idea of a joke, surely.  Hiding his disappointment and the growing weight of disaster, he nods to dismiss her.  Despite his dismissal, she remains, trembling and eager, the very picture of why he loves war as much as he hates it.  Spirits, they make his heart ache behind his keel … so beautiful in their eager courage, in the purity of life distilled to its barest essence.